Poetry

The gift of poetry is lost, or, more precisely, the vanity associated with the idea of poetry is lost in me. What's left is a sort of push for expression with no rhetorical flourish (and this is stated using a rhetorical flourish). There's no need to persuade anyone through this written thing here. So I spend sometime at the beginning purging from myself the intent to communicate, and so, with hope achieved through neglect, encounter some effect realized through failed communication.

Why dont you tell me how you feel?

Okay.

So...

So what?

You haven't said anything.

That's because I have nothing to say.